


You're Just My Type

by Northisnotup



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Robots & Androids, Cunnilingus, Honeypot, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Nonbinary Character, Pacifist Best Ending (Detroit: Become Human), Secret Identity, Undercover As Prostitute, Unsafe Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-08
Updated: 2018-08-08
Packaged: 2019-06-23 23:34:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15617502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Northisnotup/pseuds/Northisnotup
Summary: Connor should be paying attention to the mark, or his cover. Instead he can't stop thinking about the man who buys his time and sits Connor in his lap but refuses to fuck him.





	You're Just My Type

**Author's Note:**

> I suppose you could call this dubious consent, as Hank doesn't know who he is sleeping with, but in my mind there really isn't anything different then picking up a one night stand. Know your limits, read with caution. 
> 
> Birthday fic for @twinkrights on twitter. They asked for Connor in a playboy bunny costume. How this came from that, I honestly have no idea.

_That man has been patronizing you exclusively for two weeks, Connor._

Connor turns his head, hiding his yellow-spinning LED under the guise of ordering his ‘patron’ another drink. _And?_

Over their connection, Nines sends a burst of static similar to a snort of derision. _Just don’t forget your mission here, brother dear. Be safe._

Connor snaps their connection shut, sashaying across the room with drink in hand. The outfit, as it were, causes some commotion with the newer crowd of weekend partiers, but Connor weaves expertly back to the man who takes the drink and draws him back into his lap. “There you are, Bunny boy. What took you so long?” Hank smiles, the wrinkles around his eyes deepening pleasantly. 

Connor’s thirium regulator cycles faster for three whole revolutions, sparking a heat warning to flash across his sensors, a peacock flush to rise in his cheeks, and his receptive cavity to begin lubricating. Of all the perks of deviancy, the autonomous responses to stimuli are a very large drawback, especially in undercover work. “There was a line, up at the bar.” He smiles back, continuing quietly when Hank levers an incredulous glance at him. “My boss wanted to check in. Making sure you’re getting your money’s worth.”

Not technically lie.

Hank laughs, relaxing enough to throw a couple more chips into the pot of his poker game. “Making sure you’re getting my money, more like.” He stokes a light hand up Connor’s stocking clad thigh, but nothing outrageous. Nothing inappropriate. Nothing that Connor’s been aching for, basically.

“Hank-” 

“Hold that thought, honey.” 

Connor feels himself clench around nothing and silences his vocal output against the needy noise he wants to make.

He’s going to get fired, then decommissioned and shut down if he keeps this up.

Having been lucky enough to catch the attention and become a favourite of one of the men who regularly attends Todd Williams’ games, Connor should be paying attention to Todd, the high roller. Suspected in all manner of cases ranging from drug distribution to smuggling to assault and murder, this operation has been in the works for months.

And for the first time in the whole of his existence, Connor doesn’t care. He would quit the force right now if it meant Hank would take him to the back room and use him like he was actually a Traci.

As it is, Connor is grateful that he is a very advanced prototype. In the background, his processors are able to track and compile data on everything Todd - or his androids, registered names Kara and Luther - say or do. The bulk of his attention and processors then, are able to track Hank. The pressure and warmth of his hands on Connor’s body, the amount of money - via data transfer or physical bills slipped down his corset - spent, the intimate way he whispers in Connor’s ear when he has a good hand.

The game continues, Hank winning and losing in equal amounts but ending in a good enough place that he keeps Connor close in triumph.

Todd leaves before the club becomes terribly active, as is his want. His eyes have become red and his manner snappish. Close to sober. Kara leans forward to whisper something in his ear and Luther near guides him out of the building, one large hand clapped on his shoulder.

That’s… 

“Well, you don’t always end up on top,” Hank chuckles, thumbing through his winnings and placing a few notes in the elastic top of Connor’s stocking. “But you can get pretty damn close!” His hands are warm and slightly sweaty, and Connor feels as though the sensitivity in his synthskin has been turned up, the drag of Hank’s calluses making his squirm.

“Hank, you’ve already paid more-”

“Eh, call it a tip for good service, babe.” One of Hank’s hands plucks at his garters, but he doesn’t jostle his leg or otherwise urge Connor up.

Connor hurriedly finishes his report, receiving a notification of his shift ending and the other undercover units tracking Todd to his car. The stakeout team check in just as Hank throws back the rest of his drink. 

“Well, time to go, Bunny.” Hank rests his hand on Connor’s waist, squeezing once. A clear dismissal.

There isn’t any reason to remain where he is. Except - Hank’s already paid for the rest of Connor’s time.

Hank, who’s had a few drinks, but not enough to be truly inebriated. (He either hasn’t noticed that Connor has stopped ordering him doubles, or has chosen not to comment.)

Hank who’s always so gentle when he doesn’t need to be. Who pays for Connor but doesn’t fuck him. Who is the sole reason Connor both understands and comprehends human idioms like ‘climbing the walls in frustration.’

“You have me for another hour and a half, Hank.” Connor tries, the same way he has the last seven times Hank has dismissed him.

Unlike the last seven times, Hank pauses, considering.

His cooling systems shudder to a stop for half a cycle.

“Okay, Bunny, I’ll bite. Just answer one question for me.”

“Anything.”

Hank’s tongue swipes against his bottom lip. “How many men have had you already tonight?”

And that’s easy. Too easy. Something sparks down Connor’s neural network almost too quickly to parse. Shame. Followed near immediately by his pump quickening and the embarrassing heat of himself lubricating to an almost uncomfortable degree. Enough to dampen his uniform. “None.”

“Oh yeah?” Hank smooths a hand up his back, squeezing the base of Connor’s neck and he has to stop functions of his code from arching into the contact, from grinding his hips against the warm weight of Hank’s cock, half-hard beneath him.

Even if Connor was not working and functionally off limits to all others, the answer would be easy. “It’s Thursday, Hank. You’re always here on Thursdays.”

Four Thursdays in a row, in fact. 

He had another android on his lap the first time Connor saw him. A pale, female Traci who spent her time in Hank’s lap kissing his neck and attempting to lure him into a private room, much to his annoyance. Sensing an in, Connor brought him a drink- on the house -and he’d won his next two hands. “Guess I got me a new good luck charm,” he’d laughed, dismissing the girl and pulling Connor into her place. “What do you say, Bunny?”

Connor had said yes. Not because he was at the high roller’s table - there were other men there, some of which looked envious at Hank’s arm around Connor’s waist - but because he enjoyed the way Hank smiled. Liked the gap between his teeth and lines around his eyes. Features that Connor had analyzed and found that he preferred.

Hank slumps back against the worn leather of his chair, and Connor stares as he runs a hand through his thick silver hair. Takes a deep breath to try and keep his systems cool. “Fucking hell. Okay, what do you want? Another hundred?” 

The money could not interest Connor less. It all goes into an account that will, hopefully, make it back to Hank at the end of all this. He shakes his head, standing smoothly and holding out a hand, doesn’t bother to hide his strength, abnormal for a WR model, when he pulls Hank up. The short heels on his uniform boosts him eye to eye. “I would like, that is, I want-” From the way Hank’s eyes flick to his temple, Connor knows he must be flashing yellow, broadcasting his nervousness for all to see. “I was off shift ten minutes ago.”

“Well, shit, Bunny, don’t let me keep you.” Hank rubs a wide hand across his mouth, hiding his full expression but Connor can see the edge of a smirk. Deliberately misunderstanding.

“I’m off shift.” Connor repeats, taking Hank’s hand in his and leading him to one of the many empty rooms that advertise their going rates. He pays with the notes that Hank slipped in his stocking, something that does not go unnoticed. “And I want you to call me Connor.” 

“Connor, huh?” 

Oh, that’s good. Connor feels himself clench around nothing, extra lubrication moving his uniform from ‘damp’ to ‘wet.’ He shifts his hips from side to side, rubbing his slick opening against the buttons that keep his bodysuit closed. 

Connor moves to sit on the bed when Hank gestures to it, then lays back and allows Hank to move him into a more satisfactory position. Removing his heels, bending his legs so his feet rest flat on the end of the bed, legs splayed with Hank between them. He whistles lowly, the mood lighting in the room shining off the lubricant that’s leaked messily to the tops of Connor’s thighs. “What do you even got down here Connor? Let me know what I’m dealing with.” 

“I came with the standard set of genitals.” That is, a detachable plate hiding a port for a penis and a smooth slit of a receptive cavity.

Hank laughs quietly, stroking over Connor’s thighs and plucking at his garters the way he likes to do when he has a good hand but isn’t sure if he wants to fold. “I haven’t been with many androids, Connor. Even less now that you guys get to be in charge of your own junk. So, what does that past tense mean for me now?” 

Hank’s not a dumb man. Connor licks his lips, a mannerism he doesn’t need to do but often can’t control. “It means, I...upgraded. I wanted something more-” 

He stutters to a stop as Hank’s hands slide back up, thumbs rubbing at the edge of Connor’s bodysuit, tugging and playing with the buttons that cover him.

“More, real?” Rubs his thumb deliberately over the small bump of sensors that act as Connor’s clitoris. His chassis shakes, autonomous responses warring between cycling more oxygen to cool him and stopping entirely. “You like that, huh?” 

Connor moans quietly, unable to stop his hips from twitching when Hank’s thumb slips under the soaked fabric and rubs the sensory-laden folds hiding there. He tugs, and the snaps closing Connor’s uniform pop open - exposing him. A warning flashes across his sensors and his body immediately attempts to defend itself, his legs trying to twitching closed and being caught in Hank’s huge hands. 

“Cut that shit out…You’ve been begging for it for two weeks, don’t act shy now.” He punctuates this with a smack to Connor’s inner thigh, not hard enough to hurt, just enough to make Connor spread his legs open as his hips involuntarily hitch up. “Mm, don’t you look good.” 

He bends, taking Connor’s clit into his mouth without warning, bobbing his head a little as he works the sensitive bundle of sensors. 

Connor’s mouth falls open soundlessly, chassis shuddering to a stop as heat warnings fill his vision. There’s nothing inside him yet, nothing on his pressure plates but Connor’s body is locked and tense, unable to do anything but whine when Hank pulls back with a sucking kiss. “Help me out Connor, spread those lips for me, will ya?” 

A helpless noise squeezes out of Connor’s vocal processor, prompting him to start taking large gulps of air, to pant like an animal even as he reaches around his thighs to part his folds. 

“Good boy.” Hank smirks, leaning back in to flick his tongue, slowly, rhythmically, maddeningly and he’s, he’s-

Coming. Soundlessly. Inside him, his pressure plates grip like a vice, clenching and pushing even more lubricant out of his empty hole. Connor sucks in cool air, desperately working to keep his sensors from overloading this quickly.

He’s not done. He wants more.

Hank doesn’t let him cool down at all, slipping two thick fingers inside Connor the second the live-wire energy of his orgasm lessens. “Oh, fuck.” Connor curses and Hank rubs his damp beard off against Connor’s thigh, hiding a raspy laugh as he hooks his fingers and presses up hard against Connor’s inner walls. 

“Fuck! Me!” Connor’s hands fly to his own hair, tugging the synthskin of his scalp to try and induce pain to keep himself from coming again, too soon.

It’s like Hank’s been given his operating manual, knowing exactly where to touch, how to white out Connor’s vision and overload his processors. Connor’s happy enough to see Hank himself flushed and sweating, heart rate and pupil dilation all indicative that he’s just as affected as Connor is. 

Hank uses the fingers hooked inside to tug and urge him closer to the edge of the bed. Rubs his clit hard and rough with his thumb as a kind of apology when Connor yelps. “You want it that bad?” 

“Yes. Please.” Connor releases his hair to start on the clasps of his corset. Can’t help the noise of protest he makes when Hank slides his fingers out to help with Connor’s garters and stockings. Undoing the clips and rolling the hose gently down, kissing each bit of synth skin he bares. Digs his teeth in when he catches Connor staring. 

“How do you want it, then?” Hank pulls back to toy with his belt, like he’s not going to undress at all. Like all he needs to do is pull out his cock…

Connor licks his lips, forces himself to look away from the way Hank’s pants bulge around his erection. “Like this, please. Unless you would like me to ride you.” 

He pointedly does not offer to turn over.

Grinning, Hank makes short work of all his clothes, tossing his button down and pants away with Connor’s corset and garters. Climbs onto the bed and between Connor’s legs, rubbing the leaking head of his cock against Connor’s clit and kissing him rough and deep.

Connor’s eyes flutter, a twitch-like shock rolling through his whole body. 

Connor is an advanced prototype, able to preconstruct the possible outcomes of every circumstance and choose the right course of action. But more and more he notices his programming...glitching, for lack of a better term. Preconstruction failing and something like instinct taking over.

Kissing.

Hank’s tongue slides along his, wet and textured and perfect the same moment he slides his cock inside.

Connor moans, the girth of Hank pressing hard on his internal walls. Wrapping his legs around Hank’s waist and his hands finding purchase in Hank’s thick hair, Connor sucks eagerly on Hank’s tongue, working his hips down for more as best he can, pinned down as he is.

Somehow, he didn’t anticipate Hank wanting to kiss him.

Hank grinds in, easing himself in and out like he’s worried about the stretch, like Connor needs to adjust to him. 

He might have, had he been human.

“You can fuck me harder, Hank.” Breathy as his voice is, there in an undeniable thread of humor in his tone. “I promise I’m not going to break.”

Hank rears back, balancing on his knees and taking Connor’s hips in his hands. “You little shit,” he grins. 

And snaps his hips forward. 

Setting a pace that shakes the bed and makes Connor moan and pant for air with every thrust. With Hank’s hands gripping his hips, he has no leverage, can’t give back, can only gasp and cry and take it.

“I, I’m” Connor’s vocal processors waver, garbling his words but Connor can’t bring himself to dedicate enough power to run a diagnostic, not when he’s close...so close. 

Hank grunts, snapping his hips and burying himself even deeper inside Connor’s body. “You feeling good, huh? Gonna come for me?”

“Yes, oh, yes, yes, yes.” He forces himself to stop chanting, tearing the repeating code away. Buries his hands in his own hair and the sheets so he won’t bruise Hank.

“Good.” Hank presses his teeth against the synth of Connor’s neck. “You gotta get something if you’re not getting paid.” He huffs. 

The thought bursts across Connor’s thought processors like being hit with an electric charge. “Hank,” He begs, feels his pressure plates squeeze around Hank’s cock. “Fuck me like you’re paying for me.”

“God, Connor.” the hand on Connor’s hip digs in hard, showing his chassis. “You can’t just say shit like that!” his other hand splays over Connor’s pubic mound, thumb slip-sliding through the lubricant Connor’s leaked over his clit.

“I want it. Please, Hank, use me like-” Now that he’s had the thought he can’t help but follow it to its logical conclusion. Shame curls hot through this core, followed by an almost overwhelming pulse of pleasure. “Like you own me.” 

Hank leans closer, folding Connor nearly in half and slipping that much further into him, cock pushing on the pressure plate at the very back of his cunt and bringing tears to his eyes. “You wanna be mine, Connor?”

“Yes! I want you to take me home and use me and take care of me,” nothing out of his mouth is preconstructed, his processors too overstimulated to think about what he’s saying before he babbles it. “Make me, you’re going to make me c-” Connor’s vocal processors fizzle out, glitching the word ‘come’ into static before he falls silent, his body tensing and trembling with the overload of sensory information. 

“Just like that, baby, that’s it.” Hank grunts, digging his teeth into Connor’s neck as he pulls out abruptly, thrusting and coming hard all over Connor’s stomach and chest.

As his temperature starts to level out again, the last aftershocks of pleasure leaving his system Connor sorts through his error warnings and the various notifications that have piled up. The least consequential of which reminds him that he is now covered in semen and still needs to make his way past his coworkers to change.

There is no way his brother won’t hear of this.

Annoying.

For now though, he runs his hands through the cooling sweat that coats Hank’s back, pressing just hard enough to feel the strong muscles beneath his skin. Kisses Hank’s cheek, his nose, his slack mouth. “My social programs tell me I shouldn’t say ‘thank you,’ after sex.” 

Hank laughs quietly, wide smile making more kisses next to impossible. “No, don’t fucking thank me for this, Connor. What do you normally say to your clients, huh?” 

Shit. Connor blinks rapidly, turns his head slightly so Hank can’t see the swirl of his yellow LED. He’s not Connor, RK800 of the Detroit Police Department. He’s just a Bunny employed at the Eden Club. “You’re not a customer,” he prevaricates, and he feels Hank tense for a bare moment before he pushes himself up. Close lipped smile no longer reaching his eyes. 

“I gotta get gone, babe. Maybe I’ll see you next Thursday?” 

“I’ll be here.” Connor nods, mentally reviewing the last few minutes in an attempt to figure out where he went wrong. Babe, is not in the same tone or inflection as ‘baby,’ or ‘Connor.’ It’s quick, dismissive, cold.

Hank throws on his clothes but visibly hesitates when he reaches the door. Looking back at Connor and licking his lips, eyes roaming hungrily up and down Connor’s still blue-flushed frame. Faster than Connor thought a man of his size could move, he crosses the room and pulls Connor in for a brisk, hard kiss. “Would you let me take you home next week, Connor?”

That is much better. 

“Yes. I think I’d like that very much.”

Hank smirks, steals one last kiss before he leaves. 

 

EPILOGUE

Nines, as he constantly reminds Connor, was supposed to be the answer to deviancy. Was supposed to fix all the mistakes Cyberlife made with Connor as a model.

He doesn’t depend on air intake for coolant, and can hold himself almost preternaturally still - like a predator waiting to strike. 

Ergo, there is absolutely no reason for him to sigh, loudly, while his nails tap out a passive-aggressive rhythm against Connor’s desk. For the third time in the last fifteen minutes.

Clearly, partnering him with Lt. Reed has been a mistake. 

“Can I help you, Nines?” 

“Not while you continue to use that ridiculous nickname.” 

Connor maintains a perfectly neutral expression, but sends a surge a smug satisfaction over their uplink anyway. 

“Did you know Rosa still uploads her data to the shared network after every shift?” Nines tilts his head, peering down his nose at Connor. 

Connor fights hard to keep his pump cycling regularly and his face placid and calm. “No. Did she happen to log anything interesting?” 

Whether a quirk of his deviancy or a mistake while they were correcting Connor’s base-code, Nines is not as patient as Connor is. “If you just wanted to fuck a human, I would have lent you Gavin.”

Connor feels as though his processors have shut down. “Excuse me?” 

“Unless you fucked Mr. Anderson specifically to obtain information or place a tracking device on his person, that is. In which case, those items should have been included in your report.” 

Connor rewinds the last minute of conversation. Plays it back. Runs a self-diagnostic. 

No obvious errors detected.

“Why would I place a tracker on a civilian?” 

Nines’ already impassive face flattens further in disappointment. “Why would you not seize the opportunity?” 

“Hank Anderson has no criminal record, and we’ve looked into his banking statements already, his cash flow is legitimate. He plays with Williams, yes, but everything else about him checked out. What reason would I have to place a tracker on him?” Connor blinks rapidly, paging through the, admittedly sparse, report on the others at Williams poker table.

“Lieutenant Hank Anderson retired from the Detroit Police department five years ago, following the death of his only son in a drug related incident. Since then, he’s been a person of interest in several cases of vigilante justice around the city, targeting Red Ice distributors. How did you not know this?” Nines’ pushes the information through his audio sensors as well as their mental link, giving the impression he is yelling loud enough to make Connor ‘see’ double. 

“It wasn’t in his file!” Connor brings it up, just to be sure, and shares the information that came up during a facial recognition scan. 

Nothing. There’s nothing.

“That is...very concerning to me.” Nines says, tone dark and menacing.

“Richard! Connor! I’m glad I caught you guys.” Chris leans into the bullpen, “There’s been an update on your case. Todd Williams was found dead this morning, shot.” 

“What about his androids?” Connor asks, sending information on the AX and TR models that followed Todd everywhere.

“Missing, from what we can tell. Officers swept the scene and didn’t find anything.” 

“Anything?” Nines snaps his attention to Chris, LED cycling yellow as he accesses the report. “Connor.” 

It’s Det. Chen’s case, having been classified a regular homicide before Amy, a PM700 recognized their vic. Det. Chen is a good cop, she doesn’t miss things. Which means all their evidence - the distribution lists, the money and the drugs, were either gone before Todd got there, or never existed in the first place. 

Connor doesn’t know which idea he prefers. 

_If it wasn’t Todd, then who is our kingpin?_ Connor sends privately. 

_Perhaps we ought to as Lieutenant Anderson?_ Nines snaps back.

He isn’t wrong.


End file.
